Inner Baggage
by mirajo
Summary: Neal is back from his unscheduled trip to "Paradise", but all is not well in "Caffrey's Land".
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**: First White Collar story. Reviews, comments and suggestions are very much appreciated.

The story takes place at the beginning of season 4 after Neal comes back to New York. Vague spoilers for the end of season 3.

Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to USA Network. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Inner Baggage**

Chapter One

Neal was not going to beg. Begging was not dignified.

He looked with some disgust at the alarming pile of files on the conference room table, and then raised his eyes to look at Peter. He would just ask politely, no begging involved.

"Peter, please, this is.." the glare directed at him was as effective as a Stop Sign. Neal respected stop signs, so he shut up for the required three seconds. As soon as the power of the glare faded a bit, he continued "not reasonable, not even human. I have been locked in cold cases hell for more than a month."

The glare was gone and Peter was now wearing a small and clearly insincere smile. They knew one another so well by now, and Neal braced himself because that particular smile never bodes well for him.

"Well" Peter said sweetly, "you stayed in paradise for more than three months. I think you can take hell for a little while."

Ouch! That was a low blow, and they both knew it. Neal was kind of forced into paradise, if such thing was possible. It wasn't his choice. It wasn't his fault, actually it was sort of his fault, but he didn't like to think about that. On the other hand, while he "basked" in paradise, Peter was having a taste of hell here, so Neal couldn't really blame him for running out of patience and out of sympathy. Nonetheless, he still felt a bit hurt. He raised his hands in the universal sign of surrender, and kept his eyes glued to the file he was studying.

He heard Peter sigh and move restlessly around the conference room. "Neal" Peter's tone was not apologetic per say, but close enough. Neal was not exactly sulking, but close enough. They were certainly on familiar ground.

"I told you that I want you in the field." He pointed to the pile of files, "this is not my idea. I don't call the shots." The "anymore" at the end of this sentence was left unsaid. Peter had paid the price for Neal's unscheduled trip to paradise. Actually, Peter was still somehow paying the price.

Now Neal felt guilty as well as miserable. It's a good thing that Neal doesn't usually wallow in guilt or in misery, except in special circumstances. Unfortunately this was one of those special circumstances. He wasn't prone to self doubt either, except in very special circumstances. This whole debacle was certainly qualifying as such. He was starting to question whether he was worth it, worth the trouble Peter has been facing on and off during the last three years, worth the trouble with Keller, worth the blow to his reputation when Neal cut the anklet and left New York.

All through his life, Neal has made sure that he always had something to offer, tailoring that "something" to suit his friends as well as his victims ..er.. his marks (Mozzie would have a field day if he heard Neal referring to his "marks" as "victims"!) Neal always made sure that he was worth it, whatever that "it" was. But, not this time. Logically, he was not worth that much trouble, and for once, he acknowledged it. He had no idea why he was still here, why he was still part of Peter's personal and professional life. He had no more cards to play and no more moves to make. All his charm and all his talents were not worth the price that Peter, as well as Elizabeth, had paid. He was in their debt, and he had nothing to offer in return. He should be used to that. After all, he has made a career of taking what was not his to take, without feeling any remorse. Not this time. On top of that, he didn't exactly know what to think of his con artist "career", was he an ex con, a semi-reformed con, a confused con? He had doubts that if he did in fact engage in a real con - not the FBI sanctioned ones - that he would hesitate at a crucial point. He still had the skills, still had the "devil may care" attitude, and still had the wild imagination and adaptability. But he was lacking something that he was unable to define. Perhaps he was lacking the ability to do wrong and walk away smiling.

Peter was looking at him strangely, and he realized that his eyes must have reflected some of those thoughts. Now Peter's eyes held a question that Neal was not yet able to answer. He simply nodded, "I know, Peter." He forced a smile, not the con-man smile but the one that is only meant to comfort a friend. "I guess a small stint in hell is good for the soul."

Peter smiled back, and this time it was his genuine half smile. "You're mixing your metaphors, but expecting Neal Caffrey to admit that confession is good for the soul is really not fair." His smile turned a bit evil. "Now be a good boy and dig some more into those files, there is another stack waiting for you."

Neal just thumped his head on the desk!

_One month later_

_Surveillance Van_

"No, no, no.. You wanted this-remember? You literally begged me to get out of the office. You said – and I quote..

"No need to quote, Peter. And I did NOT beg. I just asked politely."

"All right, Mr. Manners. Sit. Watch. No complaints and no fidgeting."

Neal sat. He didn't try to glare at Peter because he suspected that Peter found his glare amusing, like a tiny Chihuahua barking furiously at a German Shepherd.

He had been desperate to get out of the office, and jumped at the chance to take a shift in the surveillance van. He had just forgotten how tedious it could be. Working cold cases was for the most part a solitary exercise, and left him enough time to brood. He really needed to overcome the self doubt that had been plaguing him since he came back. He may or may not be ready to leave his conman ways behind, but not his self-confidence, and not his self-esteem, even if they were based on a false or wrong basis. They were all he had. Well, those and his good looks.

He sighed as he turned his attention back to the incessant chatter coming through the headphones. They were pursuing a diamond smuggler, who was also suspected of other shady deals. In Neal's opinion, the guy didn't merit such attention or continuous surveillance. In Peter's opinion, Neal was just bored. Peter was probably right.

An hour went by as they continued to listen to the banal conversations and everyday sounds coming from the suspect's house. Their suspect was either a health food nut, overly fond of using his blender, or was preparing baby food for dozens of babies. The sound of the blender, combined with the heat in the van, was almost enough to lull them into a semi-awake state.

Neal thought that fidgeting was probably better than falling asleep, so he made to stand up, even as Peter, who was subtly trying to shake himself awake, bent over the snack bag, to rummage for something edible.

The sudden, extremely loud screeching noise startled them both. That definitely was not the blender! A disturbing thud made the van shook alarmingly. Unbelievable as it was, something was pushing the van forward until it collided with some unseen object with jarring force.

The impact was strong enough to send Peter tumbling to the floor, while Neal, unable to stop his momentum, went crashing through the equipment and into the metal frame, head first. Before blacking out, he fleetingly thought that Peter was strangely capable of crashing a car even when he was not driving!

_TBC_


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N**: Many Thanks for the comments, guest reviews and alerts! I appreciate your feedback a lot.

Chapter Two

Peter landed awkwardly on his right shoulder with a force that promised pain, at least for a while. His knee wasn't too happy either. A loose piece of equipment fell from the shelves, barely missing his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Neal impacting with the metal frame and sliding to the floor. Alarmed, he scrambled to him on hands and feet, ignoring his complaining shoulder and knee.

A wound over Neal's right eye was starting to bleed, and he seemed unconscious. Peter considered their situation quickly, while looking for something to use to stop the bleeding. He needed to make sure Neal was all right, find out what the heck happened, and get them out of there. A relative quiet had replaced the racket, and he couldn't detect a gas smell or other fumes, that was a bit reassuring. The van was as sturdy as can be. He couldn't tell about the rest of the vehicle, but the back door at least was smashed as if "punched" in by a giant fist.

Peter's ability to keep his head in difficult situations was one of his strengths. Nonetheless, he felt a bit shaken as he pressed against the wound on Neal's head. Over the last few years, Neal had made a habit of coming too close to the fire, then dancing away unscathed, looking as cool and collected as ever. Peter came to depend on that. He couldn't remember seeing him hurt like this, except that one time with Keller, and Peter's recollection of that time was a bit hazy, clouded by anger and pain.

Thankfully, his morose thoughts were interrupted by Neal who was groaning weakly, while trying to move his head away. He looked a bit dazed as he squinted at Peter.

"Peter… what… you okay?" He said breathlessly.

"I'm okay, buddy," Peter answered softly. "You hit your head pretty hard, and you blacked out for a couple of minutes."

Neal frowned, tried to move, and winced.

Peter put a hand to stop him. "Don't try to move, it will make the pain worse. The bleeding isn't too bad, but I'm worried about your head...how bad"

Neal interrupted him. "Did ..we ...just.. crash?"

"Well, as much as anyone can crash while parked." Peter said ruefully, stifling a groan as his knee and shoulder protested his attempt to stand up.

"I told you," Neal mumbled, "should keep your eyes.. on the road!"

Peter couldn't help smiling at the familiar dig. He put the makeshift bandage in Neal's hand. "Keep pressure on that wound." He anticipated Neal's objections, and didn't give him a chance to voice them. "I know it hurts, I'm sorry. I'll just be a minute, find out what happened, and get us out of here."

He waited for Neal to respond, but Neal closed his eyes again.

"Neal.. are you with me? You need to stay awake." He said urgently.

Neal opened his eyes, or the one eye he could see through, and patted Peter's hand. "Yeah.. yeah.. don't worry."

Peter was not the worrying kind, but head injuries were tricky. A seemingly minor injury can end up being fatal. He had lost one of his friends that way, and he couldn't shake the memory of talking and joking with his injured colleague, then hearing about his death one day later.

Neal noticed his hesitation and shooed him away. "Go .. see if the Incredible Hulk.. or one of his friends ..has landed on the van."

Relieved that his partner was alert enough to make an "Avengers" joke, and feeling a bit reassured that he won't keel over once his eyes were turned, Peter headed towards the front of the van.

Neal's head was killing him. If he kept really still, he would probably avoid throwing up. At least the bleeding wasn't that bad, he thought. He had sensed Peter's concern and reluctance to leave him, even though he was only a few steps away. He had also noticed Peter limping slightly, and looking pained as he had tried awkwardly to stand up.

He felt useless just sitting there-well that was a familiar feeling these days! His eyes weren't much help, as one eye was almost swollen shut and the other couldn't focus properly. He tried focusing on his hearing instead. There were muffled sounds of car alarm, people shouting, and perhaps distant sirens. No sounds that could indicate an impending explosion. That was good, because he really couldn't picture himself getting up and running.

He closed his eyes for a second, only to hear Peter's insistent and slightly panicked voice calling his name. He opened his eyes with some effort.

"Hey Peter.."

Judging by the concern in Peter's eyes, he must really look bad. "Well, who are we going to sue?" He asked, grinning, or at least giving it his best shot.

Peter relaxed a bit. "I have no idea. We've crashed through a high fence. You should be glad none of us was in the driver's seat… I can't open the side door. I think the locking mechanism is damaged, along with other things." He admitted in a frustrated tone.

Neal pointed vaguely towards the smashed back door. "And something really big is behind that door."

Peter frowned. "Yeah. I know this is a quiet street, but someone must have noticed this."

Neal shrugged. "People notice plenty; they just tend to walk away."

"On the bright side," Peter said in a more confident tone, "nothing has exploded, and the Emergency crews will certainly be here in a few minutes. So, we're just going to stay put till they get us out. How do you feel?" He crouched in front of Neal, holding back a grimace, and keeping his arm close to his body.

"Honestly?" Neal asked seriously. "I'm relieved that I don't have to listen to that blender one more minute."

Peter chuckled. "You probably crashed through the equipment on purpose."

As Peter turned to look for something on the table, Neal took the chance to breathe discreetly through the pain.

Peter came back holding the phone. "I'll call 911. Someone probably already did, but I need to tell them about this." He pointed to Neal's bleeding head.

"Don't forget to tell them about that too." Neal pointed to Peter's right arm and leg with slight exasperation.

"It's nothing serious, really. I just landed on my shoulder, then I tried to give the door a nudge." Peter said with a grimace remembering how that felt.

Neal would have shaken his head if he could. Giving the door "a nudge" with an injured shoulder! "Not your best plan." He simply said.

Now that he looked closely at Peter, he could see the signs of pain. "Don't we have a small first aid kit around here? You can take something for the pain, and my hands are working just fine, I can help you fashion some sort of sling…"

"Don't worry. I'll look for it after I make the call, and I don't want my arm restricted now, I may need to use it."

Neal understood. Nothing had exploded yet, there was no fire yet, and there was no guarantee that this wouldn't change at any minute. He should be able to think of what they could do if that happened. Finding a way around locked doors was HIS area of expertise! But try as he might, he was unable to picture the locking mechanism in his mind, or force himself to think of alternatives. His frustration grew along with the pounding in his head.

"All right, if my expertise is not needed to mend your bones, I'm going to rest my eyes for a bit-no need to fret."

"Who's fretting?" Peter said with false indignation.

He closed his eyes, and listened to Peter talking to the 911 operator. "My partner has a head injury.." Neal tuned out the rest of the conversation, and let these simple two words soothe him "_My partner_"… He still felt a thrill whenever Peter referred to him as a partner. But since he came back, that thrill was mixed with pain and confusion. The last few months had been an emotional rollercoaster, with both thwarted dangers and thwarted hopes, like no other time in his life. It was no wonder that he felt stretched to his limits.

Neal must have drifted for a minute because he suddenly felt a cool cloth on his forehead, and Peter gently trying to remove the blood around the wound.

"Neal, talk to me! you have to stay awake…"

Peter was definitely fretting.

Neal opened his eyes, and was about to offer Peter some reassurance, when he heard an alarming hiss.

They looked at one another, and froze.

_TBC_


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Thank you for reading. Your reviews and comments are greatly appreciated.

Chapter Three

"You heard that?"

"Yeah… smell anything?" Peter said, sniffing suspiciously.

"Uh..I don't think so." Neal said uncertainly. His nose, along with the rest of face, had taken a battering. Most, if not all, of his senses were not operating as they should.

Peter gave him a quick pat on the shoulder "I can't see any smoke, but I'll check again."

Neal tried to look around. What he could see was still blurry, and his attempt to focus brought a fresh wave of pain. He tried to sit straight preparing to stand up, but his head, along with his stomach, rebelled. He was useless to Peter like that! A sudden wave of anger and self-loathing swept over him. The feelings were unfamiliar and took him by surprise—that was not his M.O. when dealing with a crisis. He could blame it on the concussion, but he knew there was more to it than that.

"So, no smoke or excessive heat over there or anywhere." Peter looked a bit less tense. He was holding the fire extinguisher, and seemed lost in thought. "It may be as simple as a ruptured..."

"Peter.. we have to get out of here!"

Peter was startled by Neal's urgent and shaken tone. His first thought was that Neal was feeling much worse than he had let on. He actually looked worse than he did a few minutes ago. The thought scared him. "Is the pain worse? Do you have new.."

Neal interrupted him impatiently. "Help me up. I can figure a way out."

Peter put a hand on his shoulder to stop him from moving. "Hold on a second. I'll try the door again, or may be smash the window, though the glass is.."

"NO!" Neal nearly shouted. "You've already hurt your shoulder. Help me up."

Something was definitely wrong with Neal -other than the obvious- and Peter sensed he would be doing Neal more harm than good if he refused. "All right. But I don't think it's a good idea. We don't know how bad the concussion is, we may make things worse." Neal silently raised his hand, waiting for Peter to take it. Instead, Peter grabbed his shoulders, and slowly guided him to his feet. At the change in position, Neal went paler. He bit his lips, and closed his eyes.

"I won't forgive you if you throw up on my jacket." Peter said as he tried to hold him steady.

"I .. will try to aim ..at the tie." Neal said weakly, trying to bring the pain and nausea under control.

Peter waited silently. When Neal was ready, they shuffled towards the side door. Neal leaned on the door, carefully studying the locking mechanism with his fingers, rather than his eyes. Peter imagined that was how Neal might look – minus the blood and bruises – when he was trying to open a safe. The thought was a bit disturbing, but not as much as one would expect. Peter wondered if, in some measure, he had become desensitized to Neal's illegal activities.

Neal's muttered "I should be able to figure something.." reached his ears, along with his laboured breathing. Neal was growing more agitated, blood seeping once more from the wound in his head.

"Neal, listen to me. The firefighters are probably right behind the corner."

"If there is a gas leak …that won't do us much good."

"And you keeling over won't do us much good either!" Peter said forcefully. He was worried, and he didn't know how to deal with Neal's frantic stubbornness. This was the guy who did crazy things such as rappelling down walls, and jumping from moving trams! Since he has known him, Neal had seemed to sail through life, with its ups and downs, neither losing head nor heart. Part of that bravado was a façade, Peter knew, but part of it was simply who Neal was. Besides, Neal seemed more upset than scared; Peter would even say he seemed angry – and Neal had rarely given expression to his anger. Pushing his thoughts and concern aside, Peter continued in a reasonable tone, "you're bleeding again. Just sit for a second, and let me try, you can give me your lock pick set and guide me through it if that will make you feel better!"

He didn't give Neal the chance to object, and sat him down on a chair. He didn't need to look at him to know that he was sulking. He turned towards the door, he didn't really believe a lock pick would do the trick, he didn't even know what Neal thought he could do. He thought he heard a faint noise coming from outside, he was about to go check it, hoping that help was finally here when Neal said in a despondent tone, "I should .. be able to get us out… isn't that why I'm here, Peter?"

Peter knew that the "here" referred to so much more than the van. They couldn't get into that now. More than anything, he needed to keep Neal calm. He just shook his head smiling. "No, you're here because you're supposed to be listening to a smuggler having a grand time preparing his lunch."

Neal continued as if he hadn't heard. "Peter.. you don't understand. That's what I do.. if you can't count on me to do that, then what good am I to you?"

The raw emotions in the words hit Peter like a punch in the gut.

Before he had a chance to respond, Neal suddenly made a frustrated noise, and tried to stand up. His legs buckled, and Peter jumped to support him, barely managing to grab him before he hit the floor. "Not your best idea, buddy." Peter said softly, as he embraced Neal awkwardly with one arm, supporting most of weight.

Peter's knee protested the added weight, and he was about to try and deposit Neal on the chair, when the door opened with a loud bang, and an old man stepped in hurriedly.

The man looked at them, sounding a bit bemused. "Umm.. are you all right in there, folks?"

From where their rescuer was standing, Neal's injuries were hidden from view, and all he could see was two men engaged either in a strange dance or a wrestling match!

Peter nodded his thanks. He had not just been saved from a potential explosion, he had also been saved from putting foot in mouth as he was rather prone to do in emotional situations.

Neal, on his part, chose that moment to conveniently pass out.

_TBC_


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N**: Thank you for reading. I would love to hear your thoughts!

Small reference to the episode "company man".

Chapter Four

_Two Hours Later  
__ER, Mount Sinai Hospital_

Peter sat fiddling with the sling on his right arm, trying to find a comfortable position on the hard chair of the waiting room. Torn ligaments in his right shoulder, and a badly twisted knee were all the damage he had suffered in their latest escapade. Neal, who had regained consciousness in the ambulance, was still undergoing scans. Most likely he had suffered a grade II concussion, according to the doctor who had examined him. They still needed to make sure there was no haemorrhage or serious skull fracture. Overall, they had been quite lucky. Nonetheless, Peter wasn't able to appreciate that sentiment until he was 100% sure that Neal was going to be fine, without lasting damage.

The few moments after they were rescued out of the van had been chaotic. If he hadn't been worried about Neal, he would have envied him his unconscious state. The Emergency crews, as he had predicted, arrived a few minutes later, and as usual on an accident scene, it became a bit of a circus. The "hulk" that had made their van crash into the fence was in fact a security cash transport van. The driver had succumbed to a sudden seizure, the first he had ever suffered according to his medical history. He had lost control over the car, and crashed into their parked van. If he had been speeding at that time, perhaps none of them would have been here to tell the story. Despite being shaken, the security guard who was riding along had called 911, and tried his best to help his co-worker.

The elderly man who had stumbled on their weird "dance" in the van was a passerby who had stopped to help the security guard, and then went to see if there were any passengers in the van that had crashed through the fence. Fortunately for Peter and Neal, he was a handyman and had several tools that helped with the jammed door. Peter brightened as he thought of the man's selfless and kind act, stopping, going out of his way and taking a risk to help total strangers.

Peter had finally gotten hold of Elizabeth a while ago, and reassured her repeatedly that he was more annoyed at his injuries than anything (that was a slight exaggeration). He expected her to show up at any moment now. After receiving treatment, he had spent the time making several calls, explaining that yes, the van has sort of crashed, yes they were really parked when it had happened, and no, of course he hadn't been driving since they were parked—the last was in answer to Hughes who had an odd sense of humour. If people kept harping on his driving, Peter thought, his insurance company would raise his premium just on principle!

He closed his eyes, making an effort to relax. Believe it or not their ordeal has taken less than half an hour, but time moves differently for those who are trapped in a lethal situation. Particularly, Peter mused, when you're wondering if your friend will just suffer a bad headache for a few days, or whether he had a fractured skull or worse. Let alone that this friend chose that time to act unlike himself and hit you with questions that can't be ignored.

After everything they've been through, Peter couldn't believe that Neal hadn't realized that he was more than his C.I, consultant or co-worker. He wasn't just a friend, he was a friend of the family! Their friendship had been sorely tested last year. It had survived through betrayals, angry accusations, barely avoided disasters, and nasty plots by overambitious and heartless FBI agents.

Peter has always believed that actions speak louder than words. That suited his character just fine. But Neal's unusual behaviour and questions in the van required something that Peter was reluctant to do—an honest confrontation. How can you do that with a guy who skilfully uses words and body language to trick, manipulate and charm people out of their possessions? One of the hardest things about being Neal's friend is that he could never be completely sure that there was no hidden agenda behind every word, gesture and action.

"Hey Hon…"

He opened his eyes to find Elizabeth looking both worried and relieved. After all these years, he was still amazed at the effect she had on him. Her simple presence both comforted and energized him.

"Any news about Neal?" She asked, taking a seat beside him.

"Not yet. It looked a bit bad to me, but I believe the doctors don't share my pessimism." He took a deep breath. "I think I overreacted a bit, El. It brought back memories.." He trailed off, knowing that she would make the connection.

"Oh.. I'm so sorry, hon.. I'm sure you'll pester the doctors to make sure they don't miss anything. Besides, Neal is tough." She smiled at him and squeezed his hand.

No..not so tough, peter thought to himself.

Finally, two hours later, Peter was able to let that nagging worry go as he sat beside Neal's bed. The doctors didn't anticipate major problems, but they said they would keep him under observation for 24 hours, or more if necessary.

Neal groggily tried to open his eyes. In between the bruises, stitches on his forehead and pronounced pallor, he didn't quite look like himself. But they were still minor problems that would be gone soon enough.

"Hey.. how do you feel?" Peter asked softly.

"a bit.. dizzy.. and head hurts….how is the arm?" He looked at the sling with some concern.

"It'll be fine, just like your head." Peter reassured him. He had only been allowed a few minutes, and Neal was obviously struggling to stay awake.

"Get some rest, Neal. I'll be back tomorrow morning."

He turned to leave, but Neal grabbed his hand and squeezed it weakly. "Peter… Thanks."

Peter patted his shoulder gently. "You're welcome. I'm just glad you'll be fine. Now, go to sleep."

For once Neal did as he was told.

_Next morning  
__Mount Sinai Hospital_

"… and he had some tools in the trunk of his car, so he managed to open the door just as I was trying to prevent you from hitting your head for the second time. Judging by the look on his face, this must have looked…uh.. a bit strange." Peter concluded with a smile.

He was sitting in a chair by Neal's bedside. While Neal wasn't looking much better, but he had insisted, with an overly bright smile, that he felt more or less fine. Peter was relaying the details of their freak accident which, according to Mozzie's statistics, happened more often then you would think.

"You should really be grateful to that guy," Peter said in a light tone, "he saved you from rattling that brain of yours more than you should. You were so intent on attacking that door!"

Neal's smile faltered a bit. "Yeah.. that was a bit melodramatic … sorry"

Peter interrupted him, "you were entitled. You should see what I do when I'm seriously injured."

"I did see what you do when you're seriously injured." Neal said softly.

It had slipped Peter's mind. Neal had been there when he had been poisoned while going undercover a while back. Neal had rushed to save him, but Peter had insisted he should help the not-so-nice guy who had been poisoned as well.

Neal continued in a serious tone. "You're more impressive when you're injured than when you're healthy."

"Thanks. Though I'm not sure if that's a compliment or an insult."

"Good," Neal said with a smirk, "that means I haven't lost my touch."

Peter shook his head. "No, you haven't, and I don't think you ever will."

Peter thought that he really shouldn't be encouraging that particular "talent" since Neal's "touch" also involved picking pockets, opening safes and forging precious artwork. But Neal's touch also meant his particular brand of intelligence, wits, appreciation of life, compassion and generosity.

Neal was clearly tiring, and Peter needed to hand in a statement before going back home for the rest of the day. Perhaps a hospital room wasn't the best place for a serious conversation. Then again, it was a place where barriers and masks were lowered, so may be it was a good place, at least as a starting point.

He took a deep breath, looked seriously at Neal and said, "I need to get going, and you need to rest for a bit before they discharge you. But I don't want to leave before answering at least one of the questions you asked yesterday…"

"You don't really have to. It was the concussion talking." Neal interrupted him, still smiling.

Peter had learned to distinguish the difference between the different versions of a Caffrey smile. He really ought to tell Neal that he had lost his touch when it comes to smiles, they were more transparent than he thought. But he wouldn't do that to an injured man.

"All right." Peter said with one of his own false smiles. "If you can tell me that it was just the concussion, I'll drop it."

Neal looked at Peter silently. He said nothing.

"Good. Then let me you tell you this: you're "here" in my office, and more importantly in my home, because you are so much more than what you believe yourself to be."

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N**: spoilers for the last episode of season 3.

Final Chapter

"Good. Then let me tell you this: you're "here" in my office, and more importantly in my home, because you are so much more than what you believe yourself to be."

Neal blinked. He could remember only one other time when Peter had reached out to him in that way, just before the explosion that took Kate's life. He didn't know how to respond! He was worn out both physically and emotionally, and couldn't find the energy to deflect, distract or make a witty comment.

When he opened his mouth, the words that came out surprised him. "It's not worth all the trouble." Obviously the filter between his brain and mouth wasn't working. Not good! But at least he hadn't exactly said what he really meant-he couldn't bring himself to say it.

Peter looked at him knowingly, and nodded his agreement. "You're right. Your inside knowledge, smarts, and the skills that you can't put on a resume, are not worth it. But _you are_."

Neal wanted to argue with that. Conversely, he wanted to believe it, accept it and let it restore something inside him that had been hurting for a while now. On the other hand, he wanted to go back to being the Neal Caffrey who didn't need a friend to reassure him of his worth.

Neal was sure he was about to embarrass himself in some way that may involve tears (God forbid), or honest words that he wouldn't be able to deny later. So he kept his mouth shut, and tried to put on his "appreciative face".

Peter simply looked at him for a while. He seemed to reach some conclusion. "I know this isn't the best time to have this conversation. So how about I drop by your place in a couple of days?"

Neal cleared his throat. "Sounds good."

"All right." Peter headed towards the door, then stopped and turned to him. "Try not to think too much about all this stuff, at least till your head feels better and we have a chance to talk, okay?"

"Yeah.. my head agrees totally with you."

Peter smiled and left, closing the door gently. Neal took a deep breath, and decided to do just as Peter had suggested. He wasn't in the best shape to deal with the thoughts, doubts, and emotions that had been plaguing him for the last few months. Perhaps, together, he and Peter could figure it out.

_Two days later_  
_Neal's apartment_

"Hey Peter.. how is the shoulder?" Neal asked as he let Peter in. He was glad that Peter looked less exhausted, and the limp wasn't as bad as before.

"Better. You look better too, minus the raccoon eye."

"Raccoon eye huh… I think it gives me a rakish and dangerous look." Neal said as he turned to examine his face in the mirror.

"Sorry to tell you this buddy, but you can't pull the dangerous look." Peter said with a smirk.

"Well," Neal acquiesced, "I prefer the harmless look any way. It can be effective in my line of ...uh.…previous line of work."

Peter shook his finger in warning. "Try to behave. Here, Elizabeth sent you this little package."

"Oh, that's nice of… is that Camomille Tea?" Neal asked in a disbelieving tone.

Peter shrugged. "Bear and wine are out of the question. Besides, she thinks we're going to need something that has a "calming effect", as she put it.

"She may have a point there." Neal muttered.

They sat on the couch, none of them speaking for a moment. Neal broke the silence. "I appreciate all this Peter." He trusted Peter would know what he meant by this. "What you said yesterday….I…it's…" Neal stopped, flustered. He was not usually at a loss for words.

Peter waited patiently for him to gather his thoughts.

"I came back to New York with lots of …"Neal trailed off, trying to find the right word.

"baggage?" Peter suggested.

"Yeah.. hadn't been able to sort it out or get rid of it."

"I noticed." Peter said. "You've been restless, and almost on edge, which is unusual for you. I first thought it had to do with being stuck in the office working on cold cases. Then I realized it was much more than that."Peter hesitated, then continued. "I was almost certain that you really regretted coming back to New York, and that I had dragged you back selfishly…"

Neal interrupted quickly. "No, no .. that's not it at all Peter."

Peter shook his head. "Yeah, I can see that now, or to be precise, your actions and what you said in the van clued me in a bit." he looked at Neal sheepishly, "but before that, I had managed to convince myself that you would eventually leave.. one way or the other."

Neal didn't know whether to feel hurt, angry or resigned. Could he really blame Peter for thinking like that?

"I wouldn't do that to you, Peter, not after all of this." He sounded hurt to his own ears.

" I know.. I know.. I just.." It was Peter's turn to be at a loss for words.

"Let me tell you what was really going on, okay?" Neal said calmly.

Peter was obviously relieved that he didn't have to elaborate on his own thoughts, and he nodded enthusiastically.

"Just know that there are many contradictions, I've even managed to confuse myself!" Neal admitted.

"You're a man of contradictions, Neal." Peter simply stated.

"Yeah, but I'm used to make that work for me. Not anymore." Neal took a deep breath, and continued resolutely. "I have something to admit too, Peter. I was forced to cut the anklet and leave New York –you know that. But, I haven't been free to do what I want for a while, and that first taste was so good. I really enjoyed it .. for a while."

Peter raised his eyebrows, and waited. Neal's voice was less calm as he continued. "But, unbelievably, after the first few weeks, instead of feeling free, I started to feel trapped. I was trapped in "Paradise"! Kramer had stolen from me the chance to explore a different life, a life where I'm neither a felon nor a fugitive. A life where I'm with people who matter to me.. and who care for me. He had taken away from me the chance to make that decision on my own."

Neal stopped to take a deep breath. "Even when I was telling the commutation committee that "I believe I have changed," I wasn't really sure if that was true or false. I didn't know if I really wanted to go through life without breaking the law. Then when that choice was taken from my hands, I became angry, and I realized that I was more serious about exploring a different life than I've thought … but it didn't matter anymore, because I had been forced to remain a criminal whether I wanted to, or not. Ironic, isn't it? .. and if you want me to confuse you even more: now that I'm back here and have this chance again, I have doubts if I can in fact maintain this life.." Neal shook his head in frustration. "I don't see things as "black" and "white" as you do Peter.. I don't know if I can."

"I know there are gray areas, Neal. I've walked in some of them. You know that." Peter said dryly. "But, there are also basic and clear lines you shouldn't cross, most people learn that in Kindergarten!"

"Believe me, I was an upstanding citizen when I was in Kindergarten, Peter. Never stole anyone's lunch, and all my art and craft were my own!"

Peter snorted.

Neal continued seriously. "My "problem with the law" started later. Except I didn't see it as a problem then, it was more of a game. But that was before prison, before losing Kate, before costing you and Elizabeth so much.." Neal trailed off, unable to continue.

"I understand, Neal." Peter said quietly.

"Do you, Peter?" Neal asked softly. "Do you understand what it is to be completely torn between two different directions? What it is to be torn between two very important friends who are on opposite sides?"

Neal waited until Peter said it. "Mozzie.."

"Yeah, Mozzie who left paradise – his dream life – to come back with me!"

Neal couldn't sit still anymore, he started to pace. "I cost Moz Paradise, and I cost you so much more." He turned to face Peter. His face reflected the confusion, exhaustion and frustration he felt. "No matter what I do, I will end up disappointing one or both of you! It's just not worth it, Peter. You know I'm not prone to modesty, so you should believe me when I say it's really not worth it to you."

"Neal…" Peter started, but Neal raised his hand to stop him. "After coming back, and realizing the price you paid because of that whole fiasco, I felt that I owe you too much. I needed to do something to deserve it. Working cold cases didn't help." Neal sighed. "Meanwhile, over here Mozzie has been too quiet, almost depressed since we got back."

Neal felt deflated. He was done. He hadn't shared everything, but it was a start.

"Neal.. I told you what I think yesterday in the hospital, and I stand by it. You are worth it." Peter said after a few minutes of silence. "But you need to remove me and Mozzie both from the equation. As much as I would love to "force" you into a good life, I know it has to be your choice. You need to figure out where you're heading, instead of just reacting to what I or Mozzie want from you."

"I know." Neal said wearily, with his eyes closed. "It's not easy, especially now. It was never easy actually." He opened his eyes and looked directly at Peter with an unreadable expression. "A friend had once called me a "People Pleaser". I tried to tell him that it was a tool of the trade. My friend wasn't convinced, and I think he was right."

Before Peter could think of a suitable response, Neal shook himself out of his thoughts. "I'll figure it out, Peter. It's about time I do. Talking to you has definitely helped. I'm still trying to wrap my head about what you said, but I'll get there." Neal said confidently.

Neal could tell that Peter was relieved to see him acting more like himself. Peter clapped him on the shoulder gently. "Good. I'm here to help if I can. You know that."

"Thank you.. Peter. Just.. thank you!" Neal tried to put all what he couldn't say into those simple words. He and Peter have been able to communicate non-verbally since day one, and he relied on that.

He still had a lot of baggage to deal with. He also needed to revisit that moment in his life when he had decided to become a conman instead of a policeman. He needed to confront himself with some hard facts. But he felt more confident. He also felt lighter-burdens shared are burdens halved and all that. Peter, however, looked as if his half of the burden was weighing him down.

"So, what about a cup of that tea?" Neal suggested with a smile.

Peter thought about it for a minute. "Yeah, that's actually not a bad idea."

"Elizabeth is a wise woman." Neal said while filling the kettle.

Peter shook his head ruefully. "That she is. But I think this tea package is a misguided gift from a friend and she has been trying to get rid of it ever since!"

Peter laughed as Neal sniffed at the package suspiciously, muttering "calming effect, my foot!"

_The End._

_A/N: Thank you for reading. I would love to hear your thoughts!_


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